Solomon's Oak (16 page)

A Winter Solstice Wedding
Lily Grant/Chris Reston
December 21st, 2003
5:00 P.M.

Menu

Champagne

Mulled cider

Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding

Twice-baked potato casserole

Roasted baby carrots, haricots verts, pearl onions

Cranberry/orange gelato

Snowflake sugar cookies

Fondant poinsettia red-velvet cake

Glory was on her sixtieth fondant poinsettia flower—ten more than she needed, but she was on a roll—when she straightened up and felt the sharp zing in her lower back from leaning over for so long. It made her think of Joseph Vigil, his limp, and that he still hadn’t cashed the check she’d sent him. She meant to call him to find out why, but as busy as she was preparing for the solstice wedding, he was at the bottom of her list. Juniper had created an online album of his pirate-wedding photos. Thanks to her computer skills, Solomon’s Oak’s Web site now had a MySpace page that was racking up fans. Best of all, they had a wedding set for April, a plein air painters’ gourmet luncheon in May, and they were tentatively booked up for June, with a wedding every weekend, and two more pending for August. Even with the money Glory had spent on the color brochures, after Christmas she could quit Target, unless her money continued to disappear. Juniper had returned a twenty—found it in the laundry—but another was still missing.

Glory went out the back door to find her. Today’s chores involved mucking stalls, grooming both horses, and scrubbing the dog kennels out with disinfectant. Tomorrow morning, they’d dress the tables for the sit-down reception in the barn. In the chilly air Glory saw the hose running on the cement kennel floor. Cricket was tied to the post and half-groomed. The manure pile was composting, which meant it hadn’t been raked. Meanwhile, Juniper was teaching Cadillac to leap through her outstretched arms while throwing the ball for Dodge. From a distance, they made a family portrait. How could Glory scold a teenager who looked this happy?

“Hey,” she called. “Looks like you’re having a lot of success there.”

Juniper grinned. “Cadillac’s so smart.”

“You bring out the best in him. Could you turn off the hose, finish the horse, and let the dogs in, please? I need help with the cake.”

“Okay,” Juniper said, as if things were perfectly fine, and Glory marveled at how quickly her mood shifted. Hormones, as Lois said? Or was this more of her act and Glory had yet to find out what she was covering up?

Fifteen minutes later, she heard the dogs scrabbling over the floor racing into the living room, where a nice fire was going. Juniper washed her hands and dried them. “What do you want me to do?”

“Put on an apron, and then let’s assemble the layers,” Glory said, handing Juniper the spatula of buttercream icing. The first cake layer was on the glass pedestal. “Put down an inch of icing at least,” Glory said. “We don’t want this cake going anywhere.”

“Except into the guests’ mouths.”

“Right.”

They carefully peeled away the parchment and stacked the other four fondant-covered layers atop the first one. They were each slightly off center, which gave the cake a kind of whimsy, which the bride had requested. “Chris and I are a little quirky,” Lily had informed Glory over the phone.

Juniper stood back. “That looks weird.”

“Once we put the poinsettias on, it will be beautiful. Come on. You put down the red ones.”

Juniper set down the spatula. “How do I know where they’re supposed to go? You should do this part. Can I go do my homework now?”

“Don’t give up before you’ve tried. You can do it. Look at my drawing.” Glory pushed the paper across the counter to Juniper. “It’s a cake, is all, not rocket science.”

“I’d rather not, Mrs. Solomon.”

Glory sighed. Since the therapist visit, whenever Juniper was angry or felt that she wasn’t getting her way, she called her Mrs. Solomon instead of Glory or Mom. Glory was determined not to react, but sometimes it stung. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Juniper sat down at the kitchen table and opened her math book. She was good at the homework part, but did poorly on the tests. Glory thought Juniper might have “test anxiety.” While she worked numbers out on ruled paper, Glory affixed the red and green fondant petals/leaves and, after the berries were secure, finished the cake by dusting it with a coppery, edible luster-dust product she’d found online.

“What do you think, Juniper?” Glory said, turning the cake to slide it into the box.

Juniper glanced at the cake. “It’s not a pirate ship, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“They can’t all be pirate ships.”

“Weddings are for chumps.”

“Paying chumps,” Glory reminded her.

“Whatever.”

Now would be the perfect time for a Percocet, Glory thought. Where were they? Locked up in Dan’s tackle box out in his also-locked workshop. It wasn’t worth the effort right now. Maybe after the wedding tomorrow. She put the cake into the cooler and pressed her hand against the glass, thinking of the hours spent on the cake versus what she charged. It was never enough.

“Juniper?”

She sighed. “For the jillionth time, I
didn’t
steal the money.”

“How did you know I was going to ask about that?”

“Because you get that look on your face like you just ate prunes.”

It was true. Juniper stuck to the story that she’d found the money in the clothes to be folded, specifically the jeans load of laundry. For some reason, Glory could not let it go.

“How many times do I have to tell you? It was on the floor. I picked it up and absentmindedly stuck it in my pocket to give back to you, and then I forgot about it. Call me when you’re ready to take me to the library. I need that copy of
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
.”

With that, Juniper retreated to her room, Cadillac following behind. Dodge got up, then decided he was fine by the fire and lay back down. Glory supposed some parents would take away the dog as punishment, think that was the way to make an impression. Not her. Caddy was Juniper’s constant companion. Glory didn’t want to tear her room apart like some pulp detective character each week, so she’d given the responsibility of cleaning it over to Juniper. The thing she couldn’t let go of was that twenty still missing. In her budget, $20 meant buying enough dog food, or paying the truck insurance. She tidied up the kitchen to make the rest of the reception food, but before she started cooking, she went to Juniper’s room and knocked on the door.

“Library?” she said, looking up from her desk.

“Stand up and turn out your pockets.”

Juniper stood up and did as she was told. The paler denim lining of her jeans pocket exposed a crumpled twenty that fell to the floor. “Oh, my gosh,” she said in a monotone. “Will you look at that. It must have gotten stuck way down in my pocket. Here you go. Twenty effing dollars.” She bent down, picked it up, and handed it to Glory. “Wow,
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
—and what kind of name is that?—sure had a sick life. She worked crappy jobs, got raped and pregnant, and then the baby died! She loved this guy named Angel, but he couldn’t forgive her for having the baby, so he hauled ass to Brazil or Colombia like she was ruined for him forever.
Then
he decides to forgive her, but by then she’d married the rapist guy, so she kills him for true love and Tess and Angel go on the run and at Stonehenge the police catch her, and before she gets executed she makes Angel promise to marry her sister. Then she dies! What is the point? Love makes people make the stupidest choices. I’m so not getting married. Not ever. I don’t care who the guy is, it’s just not worth it.”

Glory rubbed the wrinkled twenty, so thin it
could
have gone through the washer and dryer. She’d need CSI to prove otherwise. What else could she do but let it go? The theft had changed everything. She took her purse with her even when she took a shower. “How can you know anything about the book yet? You haven’t even read it.”

“I went online and read the reviews. If I know the high points ahead of time, it’s easier to read books from the olden days.”

“Olden days? It was written in the 1890s.”

“Over a hundred years ago!”

“Doesn’t knowing the ending spoil the surprise?”

“It’s not like I’m reading it for fun. I just want a good grade. That English teacher hates me. Did you know there were seven movies made about Tess? Except the 1913 version doesn’t exist anymore because the film rotted. It starred Minnie Maddern Fiske. No wonder no one remembers her. If that was your movie-star name, wouldn’t you change it?”

“Thank you for returning the money.”

Juniper blushed furiously and began scribbling on her notebook paper. “I did the self-test on my math chapter and got a hundred percent,” she said without looking up. “Now if I can just do that in class. Algebra’s all about memorizing. How does that help you in real life? Or is it just something they do to make students torque their brains?”

“That’s enough homework for today,” Glory said. “Let’s go ride the horses before it starts raining.”

“What about my book?”

“The library’s open until eight.”

“What about Cadillac? Can he come, too?” The border collie looked up at Glory. He’d gone from an outside-only dog to the buddy of a girl whose moods swung like jungle vines. His other activities included herding Edsel down the hallway when the opportunity arose, and nipping at Dodge when he didn’t follow directions. Glory thought of all those homes she’d tried Caddy in and still couldn’t believe that he’d belonged here all along. He was a buffer between them and didn’t mind being “the DMZ.” When each had a hand on the dog, it was easy to talk, to laugh even.

“Both big dogs are coming on the ride. It’s too cold for Edsel. Why don’t you find some boots and start tacking the horses. I’ll meet you out by the barn in a few minutes. I have to phone the florist to confirm tomorrow’s delivery.”

Glory had already made the dough for the cookies. Tonight she’d bake them and do the prep for tomorrow. An evening wedding with only thirty guests meant that she only needed two servers, so she’d called Robynn instead of Gary or Pete. Juniper relaxed around Robynn, but Gary and Pete made her nervous. In the kitchen she called Beryl Stokes at DeThomas Farms, whose wholesale poinsettia sales in Carmel Valley were legendary. In five short years, Phoebe DeThomas, niece to the late master gardener Sarah DeThomas, had taken a defunct farm and brought it back to life. In addition to the Sarah’s Legacy poinsettia strain, the all-women-run farm had perfected a creamy ivory-green named Juan’s Spirit. By candlelight, it glowed. The minute the bride told Glory how big the flower budget was, she’d called DeThomas Farms. The phone rang twice before Beryl answered.

“Glory!” she said. “Caller ID has dissolved our anonymity forever. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, how are you?” she said, thinking no one ever asks that question and wants to hear the truth.

“Can’t complain. We make the bulk of our money on poinsettias, so this is our best time of year. I have your flowers ready. I’m just finishing up the bridal bouquets. They came out beautifully. I hope you’ll post a link to us on your Web site and we’ll do the same for you. I have about an hour’s work left. I’ll drive over tomorrow morning if that works for you.”

Though they only knew each other through mutual friends, Beryl had sent Glory a note after Dan’s death, with a print of the rows of flowers at DeThomas Farms. Glory kept it on the windowsill because every time she looked at the hollyhocks, bachelor’s buttons, and the mammoth sunflowers, she was reminded of the multitude of colors there were in the world. If not here, somewhere in the world a woman was looking at flowers that distracted her from life’s struggles for a moment. Inside it read, “If you ever need to talk,” and Beryl had printed her number below.

“That will work just fine.”

“Excellent. See you then. Happy holidays.”

After Beryl hung up, Glory took a breath and blew it out slowly. Twenty lousy dollars and she’d forced the girl just like a prison guard. Just do the next thing, she told herself. Don’t think about anything but this minute. Fetching her boots from the closet, she bumped against the box of Dan’s things. It had been a month since she tried to pack it, but she still couldn’t let go. She slid into her boots, pulled on a barn coat, and went outside. Both horses were saddled. She checked Piper’s cinch and loosened it two holes. “Hey, muscles,” she called to Juniper. “If you can slide two fingers under the strap, it’s perfect. If you can’t, you’re bruising his ribs.”

Juniper’s shoulders sagged. “Did I hurt him? Should we call the vet?”

“Piper’s fine. Just be gentle. Treat them like you want people to treat you.”

“Buy him Red Vines licorice and a cell phone and an iPod and stop accusing him of stealing?”

Do not take the bait, Glory told herself. “Very funny. If you have any horse-related questions, ask.”